


but i'm happy here

by radicalvodkaaunt



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, alcohol mention, all based around carricks testimonial, cause that was a lot, just two bros being annoyingly unsubtle with how in love they are, this fic is just a mess of me being emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 00:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radicalvodkaaunt/pseuds/radicalvodkaaunt
Summary: “It’s been a great day, sure it’ll be a great night. I won’t be going. They’ll all be drunk at the end singing ‘glory glory Man United’- ““Hey, why you not going?”“Cause of that.”





	but i'm happy here

**Author's Note:**

> i said i wouldn't write again until my exams were over... but here i am... carraville really out here ruining my grades wow. anyway that whole testimonial messed me up but i'm just gonna focus on that joint post match interview and the messy emotions it gave me!!

It was the perfect day for Carrick. The sun was shining, thousands of people had turned out for him and he’d got his goal. (Jamie could’ve probably stuck a foot out, pushed it off target. But as if he was going to do that.)

Jamie had enjoyed himself too. Even amongst the boos after every one of his touches that was such an integral part of Old Trafford for him. But he no longer felt the same anger at the dirty bastards in the way he used to. Instead this odd sense of sickening nostalgia swept over him like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him under. He wished Stevie had been able to come, he’d understand what it was like. It felt wrong that the place he had hated so much, had wanted to burn to the ground, suddenly felt like a missing part of him. He’d missed pissing off Old Trafford just by his presence on the pitch, he missed being in a team, he missed playing. It was nice to experience it again for 90 minutes.

But today wasn’t a day for him to be sentimental, today wasn’t a day for him at all. However, it was a one of the greatest days of Jamie’s retirement life what with Gary’s miss, although does it even count as a miss on goal, had happened right in front of his eyes. He was never going to let that one go, it had to be one of the best moments since ‘No one wants to grow up to be a Gary Neville.’ He’ll be making fun of Gary for that for the rest of his damn life.

But for now, he has to act somewhat professional, as him and Gary are pulled over for a joint interview, because at this point they come in twos and the audience eats up every moment they interact, and if that’ll give them a few more retweets then Jamie will allow it.

Jamie smiles slightly too fondly as Gary speaks, feels so easy around him even with a camera imposing upon them. That was just the way it was with the them, it’s natural now, but Jamie still watches with intent at everything Gary says, as he wipes sweat from his face and rolls his eyes at the mention of his ‘miss.’ Jamie snaps out of it when he’s questioned, he always does.

“It’s been a great day, sure it’ll be a great night. I won’t be going. They’ll all be drunk at the end singing ‘glory glory Man United’- “

“Hey, why you not going?”

“Cause of that.”

And maybe the other reason he wasn’t going was because Gary back in full kit, running around the pitch, face flushed red and sweat dripping from his forehead, had worked Jamie up a little more than he had anticipated. He’d known he had a thing for Gary, he thought it was just a casual ‘hey you’re my co-worker and I guess you are attractive too.’ He never thought much more of it. Today had really shaken Jamie’s perception on a few things. First, he’s nostalgic for Old Trafford and now he wants to suck Gary’s dick. God how times have changed for Jamie.

They walked away from the interview together, laughing quietly between themselves at nothing at all, an occurrence more common than not. Before they can reach the main body of people, both in red and in white, Gary pulls Jamie aside, hot hands grabbing Jamie’s elbow. Burning, burning hands. Jamie doesn’t even flinch, even as his heart hammers. What was wrong with him today?

“You know you really can come tonight,” Gary says softly, still gripping Jamie’s elbow, “I think some other of your lot are coming, like JT and stuff.” Jamie doesn’t know why Gary is so desperate for him to come, but Gary has that effect on him, where he just wants to say yes.

It’s only when Jamie spots Scholes and Giggs wandering over that Jamie remembers why not to go, and Gary sees them too, promptly dropping Jamie’s arm like he’s the one that’s been burnt. Jamie doesn’t want to be there as Gary disappears with the rest of the United lot, remembering the days when United really were the best team on the planet, whilst Jamie and his team had continued to fade into the shadows of their biggest rival. And the last person Jamie wanted next to him during that small crisis was John Terry, if he’s being honest.

“It’s alright mate, I gotta get home anyway,” He mumbles, angling his head so only Gary will be able to hear as the others approached, “I’m sure you can have fun without a Scouser to make fun of,” he added, patting Gary’s shoulder as some kind of consolidation, just as he’d done in the interview. Natural.

“Well at least you know that’s the only reason I invited you,” Gary jokes, and Jamie laughs out of common courtesy. He could note the downtrodden note in Gary’s voice, but he wasn’t going to linger on it too much.

The stay on the pitch a little longer, wandering between groups of people, him and Gary. Someone on the Sky team had commented once in passing that they were inseparable, only now was Jamie beginning to see it.

But separate they did into different dressings rooms, and Jamie didn’t see Gary again after that, driving back to Liverpool and reflecting on the strange turn his life was taking him on.

-

Jamie didn’t pay too much thought on the after party he was missing out on. He watched that Manchester concert on his TV, and so what if _Live Forever_ had caused a few tears, it was none of your business.

He’d made his way to bed after perhaps one too many glasses of wine, warmth flowing beneath his skin, emulating the heat of the sun from that day, and Jamie’s ears were still ringing with the cheers that weren’t for him as he fell asleep, content for once.

And he woke up with his ears ringing with the shrill of his doorbell, echoing around the empty house with a sense of urgency unwarranted for 2:30am. Jamie thought about ignoring it, closing his eyes and hoping he was just hearing things in his sleep. Until the same relentless noise came again, piercing his brain so it vibrated within his skull. Jamie groaned, rolling out of bed, feet hitting the floor with a thud. If this was some drunk bastard pulling a joke he was going to kill them.

He picked up the large umbrella that was kept by the door, just in case.

However, once he’d opened the door up, the person behind collapsed into him, as if they’d been leaning on the door for support. Jamie just about managed to reach out in time, umbrella clattering on the floor and he caught the person, just about keeping them upright, even as his knees buckled beneath him. The body itself was warm, despite the still cold nights and the consistent drizzle of rain.

“Hi James,” the two words were slurred together, nearly incomprehensible, but God once you listen to one person go on for hours about the importance of spatial awareness in defenders, you begin to be able to recognise that voice anywhere.

“Gary? How the fuck did you get here?” Because Gary is barely able to stand on his own, in fact Jamie is still propping him up in the doorway, the porch light shining inwards reflecting off soaked dark hair. If Jamie wanted to run his hands along Gary’s scalp, well it was just because of the shock of the man being here for no decidedly good reason.

“Where there’s a will…” Gary pauses for a second, has to remember what he’s saying, Jamie waits, “There’s a way,” he finishes. It makes sense, Jamie had never met someone more stubborn than Gary, if he was to set his mind onto a task that task will be completed. He was determined and egotistical and usually wrong, but to Jamie he was perf- Jamie wasn’t even going to complete that thought, let alone entertain it.

Gary tried to prop himself up, ended up wobbling from side to side, and then pressing his forehead to Jamie’s shoulder, groaning lowly, but at least Jamie wasn’t taking all his weight anymore. “The world’s spinning,” he whined lowly.

And Gary was warm, he was so unnaturally warm that Jamie wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or not, because he felt like a furnace, but he’d always been the sun. Jamie kicked his front door closed as the rain got heavier, trying to dampen the glow of heat that was Gary.

“C’mon mate, I’ll take you to bed,” Jamie said softly, hooking his arm around Gary’s waist, helping him along one step at a time.

Gary smiled, loose and perpetually sarcastic, even in his state, “Yeah you will,” he slurred, words hot as they breathe along Jamie’s neck, a small shiver running down his spine that he was not quite able to suppress.

They stagger along up the steps, Jamie struggling considering he was sure Gary wasn’t taking any of his own weight. He was about to complain about it too, as they reached the landing, both simultaneously stopping for a second, Jamie leaning Gary against a wall. Gary broke the silence, his words clearing up, and maybe with the journey down and the rain he was beginning to sober up.

“You looked good on the pitch today,” he said, a little loud in the echoing house, like he still doesn’t quite have control of himself. But Jamie was going to take a compliment, even if it was drunk and something Gary would never say normally.

“Thanks, you didn’t play so bad yourself,” that statement wasn’t entirely true, Gary’s passing had gotten sloppy over time, he didn’t hold the same authority on the pitch as he used to. Jamie remembers when Gary was the undisputed greatest fullback, Jamie understand why Gary had never wanted to play again, to have to experience that reputation be pulled away so harshly.

Gary rolls his eyes, smiling in the same way he does when Jamie says something like ‘Liverpool have a shot at the title this season.’ It was the smile that meant Jamie was wrong. “I don’t mean you played well, you played like an old man, I mean you _looked good_.”

“I played like an old man! Do you remember your shot on goal… oh wait um, thanks…” Jamie mumbled the ending, having only heard the first part of Gary’s statement and reacting late to the connotations of the last. Jamie had to breathe in deeply then, and not react on impulse as he has done his whole life before.

Jamie wished he could stop and kiss Gary right this second, turn and suffocate whatever stupid thing Gary was going to say next, force the words and his breath down his throat as he licks his tongue into Gary’s mouth, surprised and desperate whines echoing on the dark landing of the staircase. But Gary’s more drunk than Jamie has ever seen, and if he can barely stand than surely he can’t think. Jamie has lived a life without regret, he doesn’t want to start now.

Jamie places Gary as softly as he can onto the bed in the spare bedroom, but he still collapses with a thud on to slightly dusty sheets. Jamie doesn’t have visitors stay often, and he hadn’t been given adequate warning tonight. Gary lets out a sigh of satisfaction, that he was finally off his feet and in a bed.

Gary didn’t seem too fussed about moving once led down, and Jamie rolled his eyes, noting that Gary was still in damp clothing, and he didn’t want Gary getting ill because of that. Jamie would probably end up being blamed by him. “Gary, your clothes are soaked and you still got your shoes on. Wake up a sec,” Jamie mumbled, lightly tapping Gary’s cheek in the hopes he’d come to a little.

But Gary just threw an arm over dramatically across his face, probably trying his best to ignore Jamie’s efforts to get him up, “Take them off yourself, know you’d like to James,” Gary grumbled, although he did slip his shoes off whilst speaking. However, Jamie didn’t appreciate the tiny victory as he felt his cheeks flush bright red, and he bit his tongue to stop himself from stuttering out a useless reply. Surely, he shouldn’t be feeling embarrassed when Gary was the one who collapsed into his house piss-drunk, yet here he was.

Still, Jamie did as he was told, as he always did. Like in MNF preparations, when Gary tells him what to look out for in a match and Jamie looks for that specific thing so hard, writes pages of messy notes just to pass onto to Gary. He wanted to feel pride, he needed the validation, he loved the way Gary would smile, all crooked like, and thank him softly. He doesn’t know if Gary reads all those notes, but he loves to try and impress him with them anyway.

So, Jamie first left to find some clothes for Gary to change into, coming back with an old t-shirt and shorts moments later. He swallows hard and tries to slow his beating heart, and Gary watches him, eyelids half shut, but still very much tracking Jamie’s movements. Dark eyes were a shadow in a room devoid of light, Jamie could be swept up in the depths of them, lose himself forever from time and space. He blinks and the moments gone.

There was never a ‘moment’ to begin with, Jamie reminds himself bitterly.

Jamie picks up the hem of Gary’s shirt under his fingertips, has to peel the shirt off his body from where rain had caused it to cling to his skin. Jamie’s seen Gary shirtless before, he’s walk into his dressing room at the wrong moment, he played with him for England a couple of times, and it didn’t matter then so it shouldn’t matter now. So why is Jamie holding his breath?

Gary stares Jamie directly in the eye, and Jamie looks back at him and they don’t say a word. Jamie wonders what Gary’s thinking about, whether he’s thinking at all as he brings a heavy arm up to loop across Jamie’s neck. And still nothing is said between them as Jamie is dragged forwards, or maybe he’s moving towards Gary on his own accord, it doesn’t matter because their lips meet either way.

It’s a slow kiss, and Gary tastes of wine and summer, rich and sweet. He could drown his entire senses in the taste alone, lose the entire world, so it is only him and Gary left. It seems so entirely natural as Jamie licks across ivory teeth and breaths in Gary’s sighs. This was where he was supposed to be.  

Everything is soft and slightly damp and Jamie is shrouded in fire as heat flushes in his cheeks and down his neck. He doesn’t know how, but he ends up straddling Gary, as if on instinct, his lips never leaving Gary’s. He never wants this moment to end. He caresses his fingers along the side of Gary’s face, threads them into his hair, likes the way Gary leans into his touch.

And when Jamie pulls away, a trail of saliva still joining their lips, he can’t help but smile, all crooked and disjointed and so undeniably happy. Gary looks at him, tries to feign nonchalance even when his face is red and his breaths came out in short gasps, chest rising and falling a little more rapidly than usual. Jamie continued to stroke his hand through Gary’s hair so gently, and he places his other hand on Gary’s chest, directly over his heart, which was beating too quickly, and Jamie’s own heart skipped a beat knowing he caused Gary to react this way.

It took a while for Jamie to move, to stop himself from getting further and further lost in Gary’s eyes and touch and god he was just always so warm. Gary’s heart had begun to slow down, pulse lowering and his eyes disappearing as a lull overcame them both. Jamie managed to break the hold that Gary had over him and he picked himself up, slow and soft as he knew Gary never liked to be disturbed when nearly asleep.

He swallowed his feelings away, to be forgotten again. He removes Gary’s trousers, probably already creased beyond being able to be salvaged, pulls the duvet over Gary’s lifeless form. Goes to make his way out the room. It was all a drunken mistake, hopefully Gary won’t remember, hopefully Jamie won’t have to explain. He personally had no excuses.

“Stay.”

Jamie doesn’t believe he’s heard anything for a second, his mind playing tricks on him, fooling him into believing he’s wanted. But still, he stops in the doorway, doesn’t quite have the courage to turn around. He used to be the one clattering into tackles, taking no survivors. Now he can’t move, he can’t think. Reading people is a lot harder than reading a game.

“Please,” Gary’s voice is louder this time, and so vulnerable. Jamie can’t record a time he’s heard so much raw emotion in a single word. He never expected to hear the voice of an emotionally repressed Manc waver so dramatically. Jamie holds his breath, rubs a hand down his face. He’ll have no explanation for this in the morning, other than Gary has a grip on him which makes it impossible to say no. He’s undeniably trapped under Gary’s spell.

Jamie hadn’t realised the chill that had settled in the room until he’s in bed with another man. He had never truly understood the amount of heat Gary emits until it finally is consuming him. Gary is shameless in the way he rests his head on Jamie’s chest, wraps a possessive arm around his waist, as if he has ownership of Jamie’s entire being all of a sudden. And in all fairness, he’s had that for a while really.

It’s easy for Gary to fall asleep then, and Jamie watches him with a fond smile he doesn’t feel the pressure to wipe away anymore. The rainclouds must have moved on, and moonlight filters in blue from the curtains. Gary’s features became exemplified by the shifting rays of light, smoothing over his skin and he looked almost innocent, not hardened by the years of playing, by the media criticising every step he took, with the pressures of having to win, win, win. He looked beautiful.

Jamie didn’t sleep for hours still, even as the early summer sunrise turned dark blue light a shade paler. He didn’t want to miss a moment of this, or to waste it with sleep. He’ll never witness this side of Gary again. He wasn’t going to let himself only relive it as a fleeting moment. He wanted to remember it as being his whole life in a few hours.

-

It took a few years, a stupid amount of planning, which included a lot of arguing, and a best man’s speech for Jamie to discover exactly how Gary got to his house that night. And in amongst all the other embarrassing stories relayed, Jamie learnt that as soon as Gary had touched alcohol he didn’t stop going on about how he ‘wished Carra were here’ and that he ‘missed Jamie so much,’ to the point everyone had had enough. So much so that Phil had driven down and dumped Gary on Jamie’s doorstep, probably with the idea Gary would have a wake-up call and stop being so annoying about ‘Jamie this’ and ‘Carra that.’

You can imagine the disappointment of the United lot when their actions ended in a wedding.

**Author's Note:**

> One day i'll write less vague and bad endings, but not today. This deffo took a different turn to how i'd originally intended, but idk i kinda like it. i'm still working out how to characterize these two losers, so bare with me as i continue to write short things before i dare try anything longer. but yeah i hope this was at least semi decent, my tumblr is fuck-football and thank you for reading :))


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